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I can feel Mabel’s gaze on me, and I’m just praying her loyalty to me outweighs her need to meddle. But I can’t take my eyes off Ilarion long enough to get my point across.
“Are you happy here, Taylor?” Ilarion asks.
When it rains, it really does fucking pour. Why can’t people just accept what I tell them? “Less happy than I was five minutes ago. Before you walked in here.”
“Okay, let’s start over!” Mabel announces, clapping her hands together. “I’m Mabel Lane, the proprietor of this charming little establishment. And you are Adam’s father, whose name is…?”
“Ilarion Zakharov.”
She whistles. “Well, isn’t that a million-dollar name for a million-dollar man!”
I gawk at Mabel in disbelief. “Are you actuallyflirtingwith him?” I hiss under my breath.
“Honey, I’m old. Not dead. Andyou’rethe one who should be flirting with him. I mean, just look at this specimen.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to Ilarion, who I’m pretty sure has heard the whole whispered conversation. The proud smirk on his face says as much. “Are you here alone?” I ask.
“Why? Trying to determine if I’m going to drag you back with my own two hands?”
“You can try. I’m not going back.”
“What makes you think I give a flying fuck aboutyou?” He delivers the line with so much calm that I have to repeat his words in my head just to make sure I heard correctly.
Normal people don’t do this. They don’t track you down five years after you ran from them and threaten you with a smile.
“Oh, dear,” Mabel murmurs. Her own smile is fading fast. She must be realizing just what a formidable presence Ilarion Zakharov is when he turns off the charm and turns up the deadliness.
“When you ran, you took my child with you. Until just a minute ago, I didn’t even know if I had a son or a daughter.”
A small part of me feels a twinge of guilt for that. “You have a son,” I say coldly. “He’s four years old and his name is Adam.”
Something flickers across those impregnable blue eyes. “What have you told him about me?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I stack the menus sharply on the counter. “When he’s in need of a paternal presence, he has Dad.”
“Ah, the two-time traitor. How nice it is for me to know that the man with fickle loyalty is the one responsible for raising my son.”
I lean against the counter, meeting the fury in his eyes. “I’m not sure you have the right to get all bent out of shape about loyalty, Ilarion,” I spit. “Considering you never breathed a word to me about who my father really was.”
“If I did, you wouldn’t have trusted me.”
“And I would have been right!”
“Fucking hell, he’s filled your head with nonsense.”
“Don’t do that.” I jab a finger in his face. “Don’t act as though I can’t think for myself. Like I’m incapable of making my own judgments.”
“Your inability to make sound judgments is exactly why we’re here.”
I grit my teeth. What I wouldn’t give for a kitchen knife in my hand right now. “My father has his version of events,” I continue. “Everyone has their own side of the story.”
“Indeed. And yet I notice you haven’t asked for mine.”
I’m dangerously close to needing a paper bag to breathe into. Or to suffocate him with. If this conversation continues, I’m going to completely break down, and I don’t want him seeing me like that. I don’t need him makinghisjudgements like he always has. Looking at me like I’m pathetic and weak.
That may have been me, once. A long time ago. It’s amazing what motherhood does to a woman, though.
I’m stronger now.
